Twelve years ago today, you possessed me, took me, and started an invasion that went into my mind as well. Do you even remember me? Do you remember what you did to me

You took advantage of me. You drugged me and didn’t take no for an answer. There was no consent given, but that didn’t stop you. You raped me.

It was a week before my 21st birthday, and you destroyed the girl that I was then. Shattered her beyond repair.

Do you know that you were almost a father again? That’s right, you left a “gift” behind, a constant reminder of what you had done. I found out on Mother’s Day. Ironic isn’t it? Ruined that holiday for me as all I had wanted was a family of my own, yet the only family I was going to have was the child of the guy that raped me. It’s okay though, apparently fate took control as I had a miscarriage right after I had decided I had wanted to keep the baby. It was not that child’s fault.

I would scream and cry, wasting tears on you, while I was in the shower or had music up so loud so no one would hear. I felt dirty, used, worthless. I hurt beyond words and had no control. I shut down, becoming an emotional zombie, allowing no emotions to be felt.

When I wanted to feel something, on my own terms, I would cut, punch, scratch, or burn myself. If it hurt me, then I would do it. I had control that way.

I bet you didn’t know that I had made a New Year’s Resolution at the end of that year? I tried to commit suicide. TRIED. I was rather unsuccessful, obviously as I’m here writing this to you. I didn’t want to be in the darkness I had fallen so far into. I wanted the hold you had on me gone. The anger and hate, sadness and hopelessness, I wanted it all gone. I needed the memories and images gone, the flashbacks that wouldn’t end to disappear.

I never told anyone what happened to me. I was embarrassed that you had this control on me. I didn’t want to admit that I needed rescuing to anyone. I didn’t like that I was now a victim, helpless. I thought I was better than that. I could not bring myself to say “Save me, I need help.”

I did it though, despite you. I saved myself. I became a survivor, a fighter. I grew stronger and took control. I fought for my survival. I had to, as my only other choice was taken away from me, suicide. I sought help at the rape center. I learned that the only hold you had on me was the one I created in my mind.

I broke it.

I tore you away as if you were nothing, because that’s what you are. You are not worth a single thought. You don’t have control of me. You mean nothing to me.

How does it feel to have the tables turned? You treated me as if I was nothing, and now you are nothing.

You know, if it wasn’t for you, I would not be the person that I am today. I wouldn’t be strong. I would not be the fighter that I am, nor would I be able to love and accept myself, in turn letting myself love others. I now believe in myself. I kick ass now.

For that, I thank you, but I still hate and despise you, like the worthless fuck you are,
Your Former Victim

Like Golden Apples in Silver Settings so is a Word Spoken at the Right Time. – Proverbs 25:11

I remember hearing and reading that bible quote when I was little, but never really thinking twice about it. Until now that is. Never has became frequently lately.

As a child I lived in my own world, mine and my brother’s that we invented and shared. I didn’t feel lonely, I didn’t feel depressed, I didn’t need to know that people realized I existed. I had my brother after all, and we kept each other company. Being a year apart we did most things together and entertained each other. It was a funny competition like thing we had where we had to prove that what the other was doing, we could to. We looked out for each other, and while we picked on each other, no one was allowed to mess with the other. I knew I wasn’t the only person alive, I had my brother. He accepted that I was weird and goofy usually, and a little off from others, not as outspoken.

We were like this

Then life happened and we grew more apart, went our separate ways. He had his plethora of friends, I had my very few amount. He got married, has a kid, his own family. I was raped, became pregnant, lost a child, became introverted, tried suicide, hurt myself. We went different routes as life normally does. I lost that constant companion, that person that affirmed that I wasn’t alone, that things was ok, the one person I told my troubles to. I lost my connection to people, that little bit that tied me to life.

He provided words to me. Words that reaffirmed that I was alive and not alone. Words of encouragement. The silly teasing that goes on between brother and sister. Standing against our sister together, her verbal abuse.

Then slowly the shadows consumed me, the darkness of my mind being all that I saw, misery and despair all I heard, nothing being what I felt, I was nothing.

I had to learn to survive on my own, and it was a beautiful disaster.

I bottled everything inside of me. I stayed in my shadows. I shared nothing, and pretended I was invisible. It must have worked because no one talked to me. No one asked how I was doing. No one cared. I started to drink whenever I could. I was hurting myself in multiple ways. No one seemed to think twice about it. No one questioned it. There were no words. Silence, if anything, pushed me further away from life.

I lived in a world of silence, darkness, emptiness; a vacuum. My life was nothing.

Then something happened. A friend I didn’t think was there anymore spoke to me. He asked me to get help. Someone noticed, and then spoke. It stuck with me. I did not act upon it right away. I had no light, no way to escape, but I would find it, because of those words, that request asking me to get help.

Eventually I got that help, saw a psychiatrist, actually a legion of them, as apparently I was a bit more twisted, broke, and lost than originally thought to be. My first psychiatrist sent me to group therapy when she saw some of my wounds and scars. My group wasn’t just about being in a group with others that were disturbed and wanted to find ways to end things, it was groups of psychiatrists and therapists. Eventually I learned ways to manage, to deal, to not hide in the shadowy darkness all of the time, though as those that suffer from mental illnesses know, there are relapses, ups and downs, as this roller coaster never ends that our brains are on. I still have issues. I still battle, still feel alone, helpless, and at times, I want to end it all. Other times I’m in an okay place where I can manage.

In those helpless times, it seems that I have someone watching out for me. When I need it the most, I will get a text, an IM, a Snapchat, or an email, some form of communication just asking how I am, or saying hi. I have a lifeline, a tether to the world reaching out to me. Something to connect me back to people. I didn’t ask, I didn’t hope for it, it was just there when I needed it. A treasure.

I try to hide everything and hold it in. It’s who I am, so when that small word, or something comes across to show that someone is thinking about me, it brings a little more of me to the picture. I start to fill in. I’m not invisible. I don’t have my brother the way I did before, and it still is the hardest thing to want to bring these types of things up to him, but I’m learning that there are others out there that lend those words and thoughts, those lights and lifelines and tethers I desperately need at times.

II try to be this tether to others. I love sitting down at a computer and writing. I open up friends list and see who is on and send messages out saying hi. I go through my contacts in my phone and send a good morning, how are you to people. I’ve had people do that to me when I’m at my lowest, or needing a word spoken, I hope I can do the same to others. I hope to provide golden apples, albeit a bit tarnished. I apologize for that.

So, I don’t usually bring this up at all, but it’s hitting me a bit hard this year. On this date 11 years ago (which happened to be Mother’s Day), I found out I was pregnant as a result of the rape. This year it’s like a punch in the stomach. And I know in a few weeks in July, it will be the anniversary of my miscarriage.

When I found out about the pregnancy, I admit, I was shocked and devastated. I now have a reminder of what had happened to me, and have it always there. I didn’t want that. I felt that would not be able to care for this child without constant reminders. I didn’t tell my family, because then I’d have to tell them about the rape, not something I wanted to do.

It took a little bit of time, and I’m unsure why, but my mind changed. I accepted the fact that I was pregnant, as well as realized that it was not this baby’s fault. This baby that was starting to grow inside of me, was not who hurt me and took away what was me. This could be a chance to make myself better, perhaps get over what had happened, or at least move past it. This could be my silver lining, after all, I was always wanting my own family and children.

Then the bottom dropped out again. At around 14 weeks pregnant, I lost the baby. My world fell apart again. After just realizing that I had a chance to find a bit of happiness and move on a little bit, it disappeared again. I had a bubble of sunshine, that was swallowed back up in the empty. It was after this that I had slipped into the deepest darkest depression that took forever to get out of. You know the one, where I was self harming, attempted suicide, cut myself off from anyone, so on and so on.

So for some reason this year, it’s hitting me hard. I’ve cried a few times this week and felt awful. If I’m feeling like this now, what’s it going to be like in a couple of weeks? I hope the dark doesn’t become too much.